A man walks into an art gallery…

A couple of weeks ago I put my horrendous self-doubt and disbelief behind me, became very brave and entered the doorway of an art gallery/shop I’ve always admired with a view to asking the shop-owner if he would be interested in displaying my art.

Needless to say, I felt a complete imposter and fraud, noting that my art, compared to the art displayed, was extremely messy (in a childish sort of way), unframed and absolutely, compared to what was on show, underpriced. The voice in my head was loud and insistent…’who the fuck do you think you are’?

Anyway, the owner couldn’t have been nicer. He put me at my ease, we exchanged cards and he said he would check out my website. I kissed his feet (not true) and left feeling pleased with myself.

I haven’t heard a thing since.

Hope and Beauty

12:38:47

So here we are in the first month of the year and here I am, depressed.

One: I find myself ‘blocked’ and stumped on what I need to paint (and boy do I need to paint). Nothing has popped into my head which is how it usually works. ‘Not popping’ is not only unusual but is, worrying. But then again, other things occupy my solitary brain cell.

The point being. Two: How can I justify time and space on such a frivolous pastime and ‘useless occupation’, when evil bastards/monsters like Trump are killing innocent people the world over?

I know, I know, ART out-trumps Trump (see what I did there) every time. Art doesn’t kill, it informs, it offers hope and promotes beauty. It keeps people like me, sane (ish). At least that’s what I try to believe.

Unfortunately, ART (I think) doesn’t flourish in the dark or when evil is afoot because ART needs to be seen to be believed, and human waste like the aforementioned have a way of keeping hope, and beauty out of sight of the masses whose main concern, is at the moment, to survive.

The demise of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre/Company

landscape art — **‘Royal Shakespeare Theatre presents – Scene 1. Destruction.’ Oil on 12″ x 12″ canvas board. £50.**

The demise of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre/Company has been predicted for a number of years now, yet somehow this once great theatre company continues to exist. Gutted and a mere shadow of its former self, it clings to the idea that 37 (?) plays will sustain it to the end. It swallows up a grant that a quite number of smaller theatre companies would survive on and pushes a system of weird ‘repertory’ (my opinion), that is slowly killing it. The royal shakespeare theatre must adapt to thrive in today’s landscape.

The time has obviously come for someone to be brave (and take a drop in salary) and make the decision that would have its vast resources (buildings/theatres/rooms etc) dedicated to all theatre, and not to one (great as he may be) playwright.

Moreover, the royal shakespeare theatre should explore innovative programmes that attract diverse audiences.

In other words, all Theatre celebrated (and dedicated in Shakespeare’s name if need be).

And to (re) start the process I would advocate a return to the repertory system. A system that would help in its own way to reduce the never-ending conveyor belt of unemployed actors by offering them a year/2-year contract where they could perform Shakespeare (if need be) and more modern plays (lots of them), ongoing, all year round.

In doing so, the royal shakespeare theatre can build a bridge between classical and contemporary works.

Detractors of this system and their usual cries of ‘The RSC couldn’t hope to offer actors wages that compete with TV and films’ have perhaps not noticed that film and TV are experiencing their own problems and as a result are making massive cuts.

A return to repertory, a return to variation and a celebration of all theatre would (in my opinion) attract the new audiences that theatre and especially the RSC is crying out for.

It is essential that the royal shakespeare theatre honours its roots while embracing new artistic expressions.

I should make it clear that I am not advocating a return to a golden age that more than likely did not exist. In my experience and my time at the Jam Factory, there were departments within, that all played their part in its slow death.

Be it greed, self-importance, bullying, hierarchy and a tendency to invent mysterious, self-imposed cultures and ‘rules’, they all played their part in jumping on the gravy train. Thankfully, some of those departments no longer exist.

Sadly however, chances were missed during one of the many ‘clear-outs’ and there was no-one with vision (courage?) enough to build on the free spaces that were left behind, so even today we still find existing and new (ish) departments who have become more important than the basic purpose of the RSC itself…i.e. Producing Theatre.

Soon, someone will write a book about the death of Shakespeare’s theatre which in turn will become a screenplay, unfortunately too late to become a stage play as the Royal Shakespeare will be, like its master’s grave, dust.

Failing to evolve could mean the royal shakespeare theatre becomes a relic of the past.

Artists remember…

ARTISTS…

There is no telling or predicting people’s taste.

You cannot dictate how a viewer of your art is going to react.

If you paint only to sell, then you are fighting a losing battle.

You must learn to paint for yourself because the ‘market’ is unpredictable and unknown.

What feeds collectors today, can be forgotten and worthless tomorrow.

What you are looking for is reaction & connection.

SO…

paint for yourself with all your heart and all your mind.

DO NOT LOSE HOPE.

The connection with a stranger will come

Patience is the key.

Advice for the Royal Shakespeare Theatre I.

A great revelation has come to me overnight that would enable the Royal Shakespeare theatre to immediately cease their most recent round of choice and disappointing redundancies.

The plot would involve supplying targeted education establishments (schools), with series 1 & 2 of the BBC’s ‘Upstart Crow’.

Written by Ben Elton, these series would provide everything the pupils of these chosen educational establishments (schools), need to know concerning Shakespeare and his works (borrowed/fabricated or otherwise), thus relieving the RSC’s need for a so-called education department that we all know is actually a ploy to fill their coffers with Grant Monies.

Once the ‘Upstart Crow’ episodes are established, the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, could then cease the afore mentioned and unfortunate redundancies of under-workers, and save money instead, by relieving themselves immediately of their well-heeled and obviously unnecessary Education Department.

You may thank me later.

A Health Update

The silence in our house that (I described in my last post-One car family) is slowly breaking down and is now punctuated by the odd ‘good morning’ or stuff that doesn’t crack the ice too much.

All this accompanied by a scowl or a frown either from me (I confess), or her. In all our years of marriage (54 years – Holy mackerel) this present outbreak must rank in the top ten. The hate, the anger is palpable. Thank God we live in a country where weaponry is hard to come by (actually there is always the kitchen).

Anyway…did I mention I am on a diet? I didn’t? In that case, let me give you a health update (bear with me).

The diabetes (type 2) is insidious. It’s a nasty bastard that eats you up from the inside out and it looks like it’s having a good go at me now. Reports from the front are telling me that my kidneys are ‘leaking’ i.e. not doing what they should be doing with proteins.

All this was discovered because I noticed that there hadn’t been any reference from those in the know of late to those naughty (failing?) kidneys. There had been previous reports of dodgy behaviour on the part of these necessary organs some years ago but I, and others had not followed through. I should say that I accept some responsibility because I haven’t turned up to my yearly diabetes check up with a bottle of pee to be looked at for some time.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, I did this time and mentioned to my lovely doctor that it was some time since I had an actual report on the state of the kidneys. She leapt into doctorly action, and the pee was sent off to Pee Central. We waited.

When the report came back it was, on the dark side. It was not good, and (if I survive) it looks like I will be going onto a new drug in the very near future…. oh yes, the diet.

I had read somewhere that type two diabetes can be reversed with diet, so determined to beat this nasty fucker that is what I chose to do.

Diet, diet, diet.

Amazingly I lost 5lbs in just as many days… and then disappointedly it stopped. I was left very slightly thinner with a bunged-up feeling I put down to too much Slim-Fast.

Fast-forward, I’ve dropped the Slim-Fast but am still dieting and regulating what I eat with sheer willpower.

Unfortunately I haven’t had the courage to get back on the weighing machine as I feel depressed enough already what with Gaza, the idiot trump and the UK knuckle-draggers who come out from under their stones every (hot) summer to complain, threaten and scare anyone who is different than them, i.e. not fat, not bald and has a vocab of more than 10 words oh yes, and dress sense.

I shall keep you informed.

One car family

We have a blackboard in the kitchen because we are a one car family.

The blackboard enables each of us, me, my son and my wife to chalk up who is doing what on a particular day. This supposedly stops each of us clashing in the use of the one car. Most of the times it works, but now and again things get confusing. Usually because of simple things like bad, by that I mean undecipherable, handwriting, but as I said, most of the time it works.

Rosie: Mums at 11.00.

Seems clear enough.

‘Mum’ (100) is Rosie’s mother and at her great age things are slowly…well, slowing down. She sleeps most of the time, is bed-ridden and I think it is fair to say semi-conscious. She is in no pain; she eats and drinks but sadly that is about it. Conversation and even her avid TV watching is sadly, gone forever.

For the past few years, she has been well catered for in a local home for the elderly. She has her own flat, with her own furniture. She has friends and has for some time lived a comfortable life. Unfortunately, as she hit her 100^th, in fact just before, things changed dramatically and to cut a long story short she has had to be moved from the home for the elderly to a nursing home.

Her flat is now empty, and her daughters are having to face the inevitable. Preparations are being made for what is, everybody knows, to come.

The point I’m trying to make here is, everybody, especially the close family, i.e. Rosie and her two sisters are under a lot of stress. Emotions are to the fore and tensions are running high.

Which takes me back to the message on the blackboard.

Rosie: Mums at 11.00.

(This gets complicated but stick with me).

We were running slightly late but as I had to deliver a sample to my doctors which was on the way (NOT), I offered to drive.

Pee delivered I proceeded to head for Mums. Except as it turned out, right Mum, wrong place.

I was headed well on the way to the nursing home when Rosie suddenly said, ‘You know we’re going to the home for the elderly right’?

Slightly annoyed, it was when I replied something to the effect, ‘but the message on the board said, ‘Mum’s (i.e. the nursing home – i.e. where Mum actually IS) at 11.00’. (Not the home for the elderly where Mum actually, WASN’T), that all hell broke loose.

*Apparently, I was supposed to know that the message referred to where she wasn’t and NOT to where she IS.

At this point I should perhaps make it clear that ‘Mum (s)’ was not involved in this debacle at all. It was nothing to do with my dear old Mother-in-Law, no this was to do with the sisters meeting at 11.00 where Mum used to be (her empty flat), to go through her personal items.

Anyway, if you are still following this…

…to cut another long story short and in an effort to keep this piece clean by leaving out the obscene language…

Have you ever had one of those all-mighty screaming and shouting matches while mobile. Dangerous to say the least. How we arrived at the er…destination (where Mum wasn’t) without being involved in a major road accident I do not know.

This happened two days ago, and we have yet to speak to each other.

IFH.

*Mind reader

I should be in my shed, painting.

I should be in my shed, painting.

Unfortunately, Donald J Trump has taken up residency in my head, rent free. The unfathomable plight of the American people and why they have allowed HIM to happen consumes me…anyway…this…

It’s obvious that I am not the only one in these here parts to be watching in astonishment as America eats itself. Things have got so bad that the jokes about ‘the orange one’ etc are no longer funny.

So much so, that the TV shows that are brave enough to criticise the President by showing never ending clips of his ridiculous statements or behaviour, are in my opinion becoming tired and ineffective. Once upon a time, humour was a powerful weapon that could be relied upon to slow down the progress of the most powerful wannabe dictator. Not anymore. They have cracked all the jokes, shown all the videos and the Fool is still there.

Trump is as he is portrayed. Stupid and dangerous.

The radio and TV stations of sensible America is merely telling the truth as it is and thereby have lost any barbs it might have had. It can tell its audience nothing new about its corrupt President. The time has come to stop laughing. The ‘joke’ is over. Time to get serious America. Time to get serious or die.

Trump is as mad as a box of frogs.

Trump is a conman.

Trump is a narcissist.

Trump is greedy and a grifter.

It’s all been said and it’s all true. It therefore follows that the truth because of its constant repetition, holds no longer holds shock value.

The surprise, the step back in ‘shock/horror’ effect has dissipated. The TV stations are merely telling their audience what they already know.

In short, main street media has lost its edge and are now merely feeding the masses who hate Trump with what they want and expect to hear. And it is these feelings of audience self-righteousness and the ‘told you so’ effect that is keeping them from rising in anger from their over-stuffed sofas. They are too ‘comfortable’ and under the mistaken allusion that the TV companies will fight the battle for them. They need to wake up and organise before it is too late. Which it might be already.

What also amazes me is the sycophantic Republican party and their complete lack of realisation that they cannot go on like this.

Their day, (sooner rather than later one hopes), will most definitely come and no amount of money and guns will save them from the fury of the crowd, or should I say, mob.